A Bloody Nightmare
by imthekeptainnow
Summary: Derek finds out that Stiles has been cutting himself for months, but only after the teen nearly kills himself. Derek refuses to let it happen again. Derek/Stiles. Warnings: Self-harm.


**Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Requested by andmilestoogobeforeisleep on tumblr**

**Beta'd by WithinHerHeart :)**

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Lying on the hospital bed, Stiles just looked so small, vulnerable, and breakable; so _human_, Derek realised with a start. He had been sedated when he arrived, and was now just sleeping it all off, the shallow rise and fall of his chest being the sole sign he was still alive. Stark white bandages that were wrapped tightly around his arms seemed to blend into his greying skin in the most horrifying of fashions.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since that moment. That one heart stopping, fear filled moment when he had approached the Stilinski house and the smell of blood had been tangible in the air. That moment when he'd forced the locked door of the bathroom open and seen Stiles, limp against the bathtub, eyes fluttering weakly as his life slid away from him as blood gushed from gapping cuts in his white flesh.

He hadn't even thought about it before he'd lifted the boy into his arms - too light, way too light - and rushed to the car. His grip on the wheel had been tight, threatening to break the metal ring, and he remembered shouting angry curses to the figure slowly bleeding onto his upholsterer.

When he'd reached the hospital, Stiles had been taken away from him almost automatically by a team of nurses and a doctor on the nightshift. He'd been stopped from going any further and it had taken all his effort not to growl at them, to keep his pacing wolf under control, when they began asking him stupid questions about Stiles' mental state that he just wasn't prepared to answer. So he called the Sheriff - well, he called the police station and told him quietly where Stiles was.

"What did you do to him Hale?" The Sheriff spat his name out and down the phone line, Derek could hear him standing up and grabbing his coat.

"Nothing, I swear sir, I..." He wavered, "He...did you know he..."

"Did I know what?" The Sheriff barked out angrily.

"Did you know Stiles cuts himself?" He practically shouted.

There was a dead silence on the other end of the phone. "W-wha...?" He stuttered out after a moments pause.

"He...when I found him...I didn't..." Derek sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I didn't know either..."

The Sheriff's voice was low when he finally spoke again. "I...I'm on my way. Just...stay with him until I get there, okay?"

"Of course," Derek agreed easily. Not that he was planning on going anywhere else.

Next he called the pack - well, Isaac. The beta had been half asleep, his voice deep with sleep, but he suddenly seemed so much more awake than before. His voice was laced with fear and worry, as he questioned whether his pack mom was okay.

"He will be, I think," Derek assured quietly, both wanting to tell him the truth and keep it hidden so he wouldn't get worried, "I'll call you if anything happens, okay? But I won't be back tonight. Until I do, you're in charge."

"Really?" He sounded surprised.

"Of course, I trust you to keep the others in line," Derek answered honestly.

"Thank you..." Isaac breathed out, "And, um, keep Stiles safe, okay?"

The fact that he didn't keep Stiles safe, couldn't even help him now, hit him hard and felt worse a wolfsbane bullet infecting him. He gritted his teeth to stave it off and let out a sharp goodbye before ending the call. He knew Isaac didn't mean to push any kind of accusation, but it was still a horrible reminder of his failure - just another failure, another person he couldn't protect.

It was only when the Sheriff showed up in the unit and reluctantly agreed that Derek was allowed access to Stiles' recovery room. It was grateful for it, having felt as if he'd been walking walls, trapped and useless, and if he'd heard a nurse say that only a "parent or a guardian are allowed in Mr Stilinski's room, Mr Hale" once more time, he was likely to shift.

And that brought him to where he was now. The Sheriff had left not too long ago to call in the deputy to cover his shift tonight, and grab another black coffee. Truth be told, Derek suspected it was all because he couldn't stand to see his son in such a state. Derek felt the same.

He didn't even realise. How could he not have realised? Stiles was part of _his_ pack, was _his_ human - it was his job to help and protect them. It wasn't completely unreasonable that he hadn't picked up on any signs of depression - because there never were. Even looking back now, in retrospect of what's just happened, there was nothing that could have warned him of this nightmare. Stiles had been the same was always the passed very weeks - the wonderfully annoying and talkative teenager, who took too much Adderall, despite how many times Derek told him that it wasn't a good thing, and could compete with any werewolf for how much he ate. He couldn't think of a time where Stiles had been anything other than cheerful. But, apparently, Stiles' mask was perfect, even to him, even to his father. Stiles had been suffering in silence, letting his pain and sadness fester until this was his only way out - _probably not wanting to bother anyone with his problems_, Derek mused bitterly, _just like Stiles_.

No more, Derek decided. When Stiles got out of this - and it was _definitely_ a _when_. Derek simply refused to let the boy die, even if it meant biting him against his will, he would survive - he would deal with the issues personally. He'd assure Stiles against anything and everything that concerned him, tell him how brilliant he truly is, and would kick the shit out of anyone who tried to tell him differently. This would never happen again, not while he had anything to say about it.

When Stiles finally woke up, it was early the next morning. The night had been horrible, terrifying, and more than once Derek and the Sheriff had fought viciously about what had caused this and who could have prevented it. Stupid and spiteful point scoring, that Derek knew wasn't wise. When it had escalated into a full out shouting match, a flustered nurse had run in and told them "if you want to stay over night - which is already against procedure, I might add - then you had both better start behaving yourselves. That kind of language - it's disgraceful, and you're disturbing the other patients!"

Grumbling and shooting dark glares at each other, the two men settled awkwardly in their seats on opposite sides of the bed. The next time they fought, both kept it to hissed out whispers of anger and accusation.

It was in the aftermath of one of these blow outs, when Derek and the Sheriff were giving each other murderous looks that Stiles' eyes fluttered. So attuned to the boy's movements, Derek's eyes snapped to the figure on the bed. The Sheriff followed a few seconds behind him, just in time to see pain furrow Stiles' features and for a low whimper to escape his scowling lips. In the end, it was the Sheriff that gained enough control over his limbs to stand up and press the little red button attached to the bed that called for help.

The Sheriff and Derek were forced to stand back as nurses and the doctor came into the room, adjusting the IVs and checking bandages and shining lights into the squirming boy's eyes. The doctor asked Stiles a load of questions with yes or no answers. It was five tense minutes when the doctor pulled away to look at the two anxious men in the room.

"Its safe to speak with him now," he announced, "Just don't push him. I'll give you a few minutes alone and then I'll come back to speak to you about post-treatment."

"Of course. Thank you Doctor Rayon," the Sheriff muttered, already approaching the bedside of his son.

Derek hovered behind silently, giving the man time with his son. He felt bad about intruding on the quiet conversation between father and son, but it was impossible not to.

"Are you okay? Not hurting or anything?"

"No, I...I'm fine..."

"What were you thinking Stiles?"

"I'm sorry," his voice sounded so broken and pained that Derek winced, drawing a breath through his teeth.

"No, I...I'm not angry, just...don't do anything like that again. God, when Derek called me, I was so terrified. I thought I'd lost you..."

"...Derek?"

"Yeah, he's the one who found you at home and brought you here - and when you're healed, we're going to have to have a talk about your boyfriend having keys to our house," the Sheriff stated pointedly.

"You said you didn't want him to come through the window," Stiles tried to defend.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," the Sheriff said firmly before sighing, "But I suppose I can get used to it - as long as he calls first." He shot a look at Derek.

He nodded acceptingly. "Of course, Sheriff."

It was then that Stiles turned towards him, expression wide and vulnerable, as if he couldn't quite believe the other man was there. Derek tried to quirk a small comforting smile, that one that Stiles had told him made him look constipated, but it succeeded in making the tension disparate from his pale face.

The Sheriff glanced between the two thoughtfully, before straightening his back. "I'm going to find the doctor." He stated, backing out of the room, leaving the two staring wide eyed at each other from across the room.

Stiles fidgeted awkwardly in the bed. He tried to move his arms and grimaced when he pulled the stitches. Derek then slowly walked to the bedside, dropping carefully into the empty seat beside him. Stiles turned his head to face him and licked his lips nervously.

Derek hesitated to reach out to touch the hand closest to him, but when he did, it was if all the breath left in one failed swoop and he was dizzy with the relief. Because Stiles was there, really there, alive and well and he couldn't describe how good that felt. He blinked as Stiles watched him quietly.

When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and emotion filled. "Don't ever do that again."

Stiles recoiled from the harshness of the voice and just looked at him pathetically, like a wounded puppy. Derek refused to look away. He needed to hear it.

"I..." He trailed off slightly, "I'll try," he finally whispered.

It wasn't exactly what he wanted, but he knew it was all he could expect now, and he didn't want to push Stiles right now. So he nodded simply, and dipped his head so he could brush his lips along the back of Stiles' hand.

_You'll try and succeed Stiles. Because I can't lose you. Not now, not ever, and you better except that. _


End file.
